


Can't Help Falling

by VibrantVenus



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Assisted Suicide, Can't help falling in love, Don't do it, F/M, Flowers, Hanahaki AU, Hehehe, Murder, Suicide, Unrequited, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, hanahaki, murder is bad, technically, title from an Elvis Presley song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VibrantVenus/pseuds/VibrantVenus
Summary: He knows Veronica doesn't love him anymore when he begins coughing up rose petals.





	Can't Help Falling

   He thinks Veronica is only joking when she says that she's done with him. He thinks that there's no way Veronica could just drop everything between them, not with all the secrets they shared. He'd thought, even if she was done, at least she still loved him, right? Veronica, without a doubt, loves him.

   Or so he thought.

   So he is startled when he coughs and rose petals erupt from his throat. He kneels down to pick one up, it's a pale white color, stark against his sun warmed skin. There is an ache in his chest, and he wonders if this is what heartbreak feels like. There is a sour taste in his mouth. He supposes that this is what heartbreak tasted like. 

   He wonders if his father had ever felt like this after his mother, ever felt the burn of flower petals tearing through the passageway of his throat. He knows there is a surgery that can remove the quickly growing flowers in his chest. He knows that there are ways to prevent his eventual death by suffocation. He knows these things to be true, and he admits he likes the way it feels. It's a sensation entirely different from cutting, but ultimately it sits in the same position. It's sick, but it makes him feel alive.

   He only knows of two ways to cure the disease, and he doesn't think Veronica would be falling back in love with him anytime soon.

   Life goes on, nobody else dies and his disease progresses at a quicker rate then what was normal. He figures it's because there was a time where Veronica had loved him, so he still knew the feeling. He understood what he had lost, but that didn't mean he was just going to stop. Losing Veronica reminded him what he was doing, what his goal was. And above it all were the remaining Heathers, free from the torment that everyone else went through. 

   He didn't see Veronica with the Heather's much. When he dud see her, however, she seemed miserable.

   Immediately, he has an idea.

   To remove an entire population of students, one must have help. Before, he had Veronica. Now, he has manipulated the dark haired Heather into working with him. Of course, she doesn't actually know what she's doing, but he has a plan. His world is already falling down around his feet, so why not make the building go down with him? 

   Heather's work is brilliant, gaining the signature of every student in the school, every signature, except two. His, and Veronica's, it's clear she can smell bullshit from a mile away, and when he sees her face to face it's one of the first things she asks about. The only reason she knows he has anything to do with it is probably because she's seen him around Heather, not that it's a bad thing for her to know, considering he's doing it all or her. Still, he admits nothing, and it's only a few hours later when he's in her room, ready to spill the beans. It's all for her, and she has a choice. Either, join him, and they could run away together, or die. He'd rather kill her, and save her as she is, lovely Veronica as pale as snow white, and almost just as dead.

    _We the students of Westerburg High..._

Of course, it doesn't go all to plan, and of course it's all his fault. He opens the closet door to see Veronica hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes are closed. and there is a soft, almost serene expression on her face. He would almost mistake her for sleeping if it weren't for the sheet around her throat. He's horrified, and he has to stop as he's coughing so hard, pale white petals falling from his lips, tears streaming past his eyes. 

   It's his fault.

   He has to make it right in the only way he understands. Perhaps, years ago, fixing things would have meant trashing the idea entirely, but that was before his mother died. Before he had lost someone to the cruelty of the world. Maybe before Veronica entirely, fixing things would have meant stopping them, but he'd have torn the world apart for her, would have destroyed himself to fix her. He'd have done anything for her to smile at him, just one more time.

   The world is strange, life without Veronica Sawyer's presence is almost alien. It's frightening, but it won't be long.

   He almost laughs when he sees Veronica, gun in her hand, blue skirt swishing around her thighs, she looks like some kind of avenging angel. He's still not sure if it's a dream, but everything becomes so much more vibrant when she comes near, the world shining like a kaleidoscope, the colors shifting to rapidly for him to trace as they grapple for the gun. Then there's a bullet in his gut and it hurts like hell, but he still pauses the bomb when she asks him to.

   She leaves the room, and he can't help the hand that reaches for her, too far to touch. A mirage in the desert.

   He feels stupid, taping a fucking bomb to his stomach, but he knows she won't just leave, and there's really only one thing left to do. When he walks out he stifles a laugh at the sight of her, hair mussed from fighting him, a cigarette in her hands, a smooth wisp of smoke blowing from between her lips. When she sees him, she freezes, and it's almost hilarious to see her face before she realizes she's won. He opens his jacket, and his mind flashes to the beginning, spreading his coat open so she could wrap around him, long limbs caressing his back as he closes the cloth around her, protecting her from the cold. 

   She stands, the cigarette falling from her fingers, crushed under her shoe, and another memory pops up, crushing a cigarette under her heel, her painted red lips pulling him in for a kiss, a laugh falling from her mouth as his hand runs through her hair. The memories are bittersweet.

   She's confused, but it's all about cleaning the slate. He thinks this'll just be it, watching her as the seconds tick closer to his imminent demise, but then he feel an itch in the back of his throat. He's almost surprised that it's taken this long, but he dutifully holds his hand to his mouth, this feels like the largest thing he's ever choked up and it's mildly disconcerting. But then it's in his hand, a striking white rose, a full bloom resting in his palm, surrounded by other fallen petals. He shows her and watches a tear roll down her cheek, he'd like to wipe it away, loving til the end, but he can't risk the bomb going off and taking her with him. An even slate he reminds himself, looking down at the timer. 

_5..._

   He stares up at her, her dark eyes burning into him.

_4..._

_3..._

   Her hands come over her mouth, a steady stream of tears sliding down her face.

    _2.._

He closes his eyes. Her face, lovely in it's sorrow, burned into the back of his eyelids.

_1..._

_0_

   The end is as bittersweet as the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I want y'all to know I almost considered having J.D. try and make a flower crown out of some of the flowers that he puked up but then I thought that was both morbid and vaguely disgusting. It also made me think of a scene from "Peter Parker's Home for Wayward Villains" a fic I adore so idk. Y'all can imagine JD with bloody flower crown if you want to but I'm going to go fucking kill myself trying to finish everything in my drafts.


End file.
